


By The Code

by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Background Erica/Boyd, Derek is the same age as Stiles, High School, M/M, dress codes, reference to past Allydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/pseuds/triggeringthehealing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the high school brings in a new dress code, Derek is unimpressed. His reaction has nothing on the one of his student council co-chair, Lydia. He really should have expected that agreeing to help her with the objection to the code would backfire on him in the most spectacular of ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By The Code

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as [an entry](http://fullmoon-ficlet.livejournal.com/381563.html) for the Full Moon Ficlet challenge on Livejournal. Completed as part of the [WIP Big Bang 2016](http://wipbigbang.livejournal.com/). 
> 
> Thank you to Tay for the cheerleading and Betaing <3 
> 
> Thanks to Xavia (xandromedovna) for the adorable art that you can find [here](http://xandromedovna.livejournal.com/4639.html)
> 
> Polyvore outfit sets as visual aid can be found [here](http://www.polyvore.com/code/collection?id=5094577). ;)

It all started with Lydia. Of course it did, Derek is not surprised that his co-chair on the student council is involved. Or that Lydia was an instigator of something that has blown up the way it did. He knows that she has a point, and he has challenged the changes to the school’s dress code himself. What he didn’t count on was Lydia’s friends getting involved. He should have, obviously, where she went they almost always followed. It was only when Lydia didn’t want them to be a part of something that they stayed away.  
  
Not even Lydia would have braved battling the whole school board, though, so it was inevitable that everyone ended up pulled into it. Unfortunately for Derek, this included him. Not that he saw it coming when Lydia dragged him along on the shopping trip to the mall under the pretense of research. She didn’t explain what the research was for, but he learned a long time ago not to question her when she came to him with a request -- or well, an order.  
  
“What exactly are we looking for?” Derek asks when Lydia takes a sharp turn towards a row of shops with second-hand clothes.  
  
“Stuff,” she says, and glances over her shoulder. “I need your opinion.”  
  
“On _clothes_?” Derek asks, his mind spinning. “ _You_ need _my_ opinion on clothes.”  
  
The only response he gets is yet another scathing look, and he wisely decides to stop asking questions. With Lydia, it’s likely that he isn’t going to like the answers anyway. He does wonder about the second-hand shop though. For as long as he’s known Lydia, she prided herself on always being on top of the latest fashion trends.  
  
Derek gets his answer the moment they walk into the door.  
  
“I hope you have a selection already,” Lydia asks, barely looking around. She acts like she’s expecting someone to pop up from behind the racks of clothes. “I’ve brought your jury,” she adds.  
  
She’s right, of course, and a head -- a very, _very_ familiar head -- with a buzzcut emerges from behind a tidy line of sweaters.  
  
“Stiles?”  
  
It’s unnecessary to say the name, Derek knows it the moment it falls out of his mouth. He’ll blame shock later, when he starts breathing again, and when his brain processes what he’s seeing.  
  
“Lydia, why do you need me to help with picking clothes for _Stiles_?” Derek asks after he shakes his head to try and clear it of his confusion.  
  
“Yes, Lyds, of all the people you could have brought along, why Hale?” Stiles asks, and throws Derek a glare that’s not at all effective.  
  
Lydia glances between them, then sighs like they’re the worst idiots she had to deal with all day. Then she marches over towards the changing rooms. Stiles follows her with a confused expression that Derek figures is mirrored on his own face. His arms are full of clothes that look decidedly different to his usual sea of graphic tees, plaid, and denim.  
  
“Derek, you still have the dress code listing on your phone, right?” Lydia calls out across the shop after Stiles ducks into one of the rooms.  
  
“Of course, we were just discussing it today,” Derek answers without thinking. “Most of it is aimed at girls, though, why…”  
  
He doesn’t finish the thought because his brain flatlines as it pieces the puzzle together. Lydia’s expression is downright triumphant, not that Derek is paying it much attention.  
  
_Oh_ , is the only thing that runs through his mind.  
  
The first thing he does when he catches his breath again is sit down on the ottomans in front of the dressing rooms. He knows it doesn’t matter _what_ Stiles is likely to walk out in, it’s not going to be good. Derek doesn’t exactly know how Lydia figured it out, but if she wants a reaction then Derek is the perfect test bunny. He knows it, and by the glances that Lydia keeps throwing him and her smirk, she knows it too.  
  
“Why me?” Derek asks quietly while Stiles is behind the changing room door.  
  
It’s a question that he knows the answer to, he’s all too aware of his attraction to Stiles, and he’s been consciously trying to ignore it for well over a year now. What he doesn’t know is what Lydia thinks she knows, or what she thinks she’s going to accomplish today.    
  
“Because I need someone who’s aware of the dress code,” she tells him, but Derek can see the way her eyes are shining with mirth.  
  
“Of course you…” Derek starts, but then his phone buzzes in his hand.  
  
When he glances down, ‘Mom’ is on the screen and he frowns before pressing the call button.  
  
“Hi Mom,” he greets, avoiding Lydia’s glare.  
  
“Hey honey, are you in town?” Talia’s voice sounds frazzled and like she’s speed-walking somewhere.  
  
“Yeah, at the mall with Lydia, why? Is everything okay?”  
  
He only half-listens as his Mom rambles about the case she’s working on, and how a client has changed the time and place of a meeting. Derek, knowing how hectic his Mom’s practice tends to be when they have a big case knows where her rambling and the phone call are going before she says it. She’s one of the more popular attorneys in town, and emergency calls like this one are regular in their household.  
  
“Max will be finished with practice in fifteen minutes, do you think you could pick him up?” Talia’s words are accompanied by the slam of her car door. “I can’t reach Cora, your father is on a conference call for the next hour, and Laura is still driving back, her lecture ran late.”  
  
“Sure it did,” Derek mumbles under his breath. “Yeah, I can go. It’s baseball today, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Talia confirms. “The coach knows you, and he’s usually the one waiting with the boys at pick-up. If you get Max home, you’re free to head out again then, I shouldn’t be that much longer.”  
  
“Mom, it’s okay, I was going to head home soon anyway,” Derek says, and tries to ignore Lydia’s murderous stare. “And you know Max won’t let me go once we’re in the house. I’ll see you there.”  
  
“Thanks honey,” Talia says, and before Derek can respond, the line’s gone dead and he’s left with silence.  
  
Well, silence and Lydia’s unimpressed huff, since she heard his side of the conversation and knows what Derek’s about to say.  
  
“That’s rather convenient,” she says, her eye roll letting him know exactly how unhappy she is.  
  
“It’s not like I asked Mom to call, or for Max to be stuck with no ride home,” Derek grumbles. “I do have to go, though. Do you need the dress code list?”  
  
“Got it,” she waves her phone where the document is pulled up. “Not the only thing I needed you here for. I guess my opinion will have to do,” she adds as she glances towards the changing room.  
  
“Don’t torture him too much, I’ve seen you shopping before,” Derek grins over his shoulder as he’s heading out.  
  
Despite their ongoing rivalry, he and Lydia are almost friends now, mostly because of all the work that goes into being on the student council. Sure, a lot of that work is stuff that anyone else wouldn’t bother with but Derek likes knowing that he’s making a difference. And Lydia, well, she refuses to leave for college without changes left in her wake. She’s already managed to fight for girls’ inclusion on various sports teams, and opened up discussions on equality in more than one area. Now with the dress code, she’s on a warpath.  
  
Derek mulls it over as he drives to Max’s baseball practice, and he wonders just how far Lydia is willing to go with that battle. And more importantly, how far Stiles is willing to go for Lydia. Had it been a year or two earlier, Derek would’ve guessed that Stiles would do anything if Lydia as much as batted her eyelashes in his direction. But now things weren’t as simple. He knows that Lydia is dating Jackson, the captain of the lacrosse team. Everyone also knows that they’re serious enough that Jackson’s college choice was made based on where Lydia decided to go. As that became clear in their senior year, Stiles seemed to withdraw from his plan to woo Lydia.  
  
_You know why you noticed_ , Derek tells himself.  
  
It’s not by accident, just like Lydia’s choice to ask _him_ to judge Stiles’ outfits wasn’t random, but he’s not ready to admit it out loud yet. He’s barely out to his best friend Boyd, let alone to the school at large. It’s less about the threat of being bullied -- there is a zero tolerance policy against bullying, and he wouldn’t be the first or only one out. It's more about his own readiness to be open about who he likes. Derek knows there’s no way that he’d manage to be out without someone realising that it’s Stiles who caught his interest. Lydia already knows, he's pretty sure Boyd knew the moment Derek came out to him, and the rest would know just as easily.  
  
He gets a break from his thoughts when Max rushes over to him at the sports center. For the rest of the afternoon, as he told his Mom on the phone, Derek’s occupied with his little brother’s rambling instead. Max is nine, and his interests only overlap with Derek’s in the sports area, everything else needs to be explained in detail. It’s enough of a distraction that he almost forgets about the trip to the mall.  
  
On Monday morning, two days later, Derek’s mind is on several other things. There’s a pop quiz in his second period English, and he has an essay due for History by the end of the week that he only has half-done. Then the coach stops him in the parking lot before school even starts to remind him of the extra practice the team has after classes are out. All that makes Derek almost miss the whispers between his classmates _and_ everyone else in the hallways during first break.  
  
“What’s going on today?” Derek asks Boyd when they have to swerve past the third group of people too busy talking in the middle of the hallway.  
  
“I thought you would've known,” Boyd tells him, rolling his eyes at the giggles from some of the other people. “Seeing as it’s Lydia’s doing. Weren’t you helping her on Friday?”  
  
“Oh crap, the clothes,” Derek groans as he remembers. “I had to pick up Max, so I don’t know what it turned out to be.”  
  
“Well, you’ll see soon enough.”  
  
Boyd’s smirk makes Derek cringe, because it never means anything good. It usually comes before tricky shots at the hoop when they’re practicing, or a shove into the pool in the summer. He doesn’t have time to ask anything else, because they round the corner to where their classroom is. That’s when Derek remembers that Stiles is in that class.  
  
“Make that now,” Boyd says and nudges Derek’s side.  
  
Almost immediately after Boyd quickly crosses to the other side of the hallway and disappearing into the classroom. Derek is left to stare at the sight in front of him.  
  
It’s not like Stiles is not wearing anything. Or that the outfit is even particularly revealing. Or -- Derek frowns for a second -- even that it consists of anything that would likely get a girl sent home to change. Derek tries to run through the dress code his mind, but he’s too distracted by Stiles.  
  
Stiles, who is in a pair of skinny jeans, so tight and fitting that they look almost like they’re painted on. They have a few rips in the knees and one just below the pocket, none big enough for skin to peek through. Stiles is in a pair of Converse, which is the least unusual part of his wardrobe since they're almost the only shoes he usually wears. But the outfit is rounded up by a T-shirt that only just reaches low enough to skim against the waistband of the grey jeans.  
  
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Derek grumbles, and startles at a chuckle next to him.  
  
“Interesting, isn’t it?” Lydia asks, but it’s not like she’s expecting a response.  
  
“It doesn’t look like a dress code violation,” Derek says anyway, still not looking away from Stiles.  
  
“Wait for it,” Lydia smiles when Derek glances at her. “Look,” she says, and Derek’s turning around just as she calls Stiles’ name, making him look in her and Derek’s direction.  
  
When Stiles raises his hand to wave at her, Derek almost chokes on air. The motion makes the shirt rise, and Derek is aware of just how much skin is suddenly on show. And how tight and form-fitting the jeans really are. Stiles’ pale but muscled abs disappear behind the fabric again, and that’s when Lydia’s elbow lands in Derek’s side.  
  
“Wait until he bends down to pick something up,” she whispers before she heads over to where Stiles is standing with Scott, his best friend.  
  
Because Lydia is evil, she barely puts in any effort into acting like her pen lands on the floor by accident. Derek does end up choking on air when Stiles reaches down to grab the pen that’s just behind his back.  
  
“There, there,” another familiar voice accompanies a pat on his back. It's is a little stronger than absolutely necessary, and Derek flinches at the unexpected impact. “He’s filling those nicely, isn’t he?”  
  
“Erica,” Derek coughs out at Boyd’s girlfriend. “Just…. Shut up.”

“Oooh, Lydia said this would be fun, but I think I underestimated her,” Erica says, chuckling.

Derek doesn’t have a response ready, still distracted by the sight of Stiles in his new outfit. It would be less of a sight if he looked as awkward as he normally does, but there’s something in the way Stiles carries himself now that screams confidence, and Derek finds that as hard to process as the clothes themselves.

He does make it through the day, though he admits to himself that it’s probably only because he didn’t have any other classes with Stiles besides that one. Once home though, Derek spends way too much time lying on his bed and recalling the visuals of how the jeans hugged Stiles’ hips, how the shirt fluttered just above the pale skin of Stiles’ surprisingly toned abs.

Because Lydia hates him, and because she’s evil, Derek gets an email just before he starts getting ready for bed. In it, there are a few photos of Stiles’ clothes, on a hanger and on Stiles. The email is addressed to everyone on the council, and according to the text it’s to record and file the process of Lydia’s plan, but Derek is pretty sure that there was absolutely no need for it.

His eyes widen when he glances a splash of blue and orange behind the grey jeans in one of the photos. He’s sure those colors will make an appearance soon. It’s no surprise to him that they dominate his dreams that night, though he has no idea what wardrobe choices exactly Lydia made.

When he lands in his usual seat in English on Tuesday, there’s a familiar plaid shirt to his left. Derek breathes a little easier the whole day, but the colors from the photos that Lydia sent him still linger on his mind. He doesn’t dare ask _her_ about them, and for a part of the day he regrets taking the out from her shopping trip on Friday. Ideas about what the next outfit choice will be distract him -- not as much as the sight of Stiles did the day before -- all through the day.

On Wednesday, he gets an answer before he sets a foot in the school. He’s just getting out of his car when a blur of blue dashes past him. Derek freezes on the spot, because it’s not the blue that keeps his attention but the expanse of pale skin that it _doesn’t_ cover. His eyes widen at the top Stiles is wearing -- bright blue, the neckline wide enough that it slips past his shoulder, the bottom perfectly fitting around his hips. There’s a strip of orange that breaks up the expanse of Stiles’ skin right in the middle between his neck and his shoulder, and Derek so absolutely isn’t going to investigate what that piece of fabric is. The shoulder and collarbones were not enough for Lydia apparently, because below the top is a pair of orange shorts that barely reach Stiles’ thighs.

Derek can’t tear his eyes from the stretch of Stiles’ legs all the way down to yet another pair of Converse, again the only piece of clothing that is typically Stiles.

“Who knew Stilinski had _legs_ ,” Boyd says, and Derek startles because he didn’t notice his best friend approaching.

“Anyone who ever saw him walking?”

For a second, Derek is proud of himself for coming up with a response to Boyd’s comment, but he deflates when he glances at his friend. Boyd doesn’t say anything, only raises and eyebrow and looks thoroughly unimpressed.

Derek doesn’t verbally admit defeat, but he looks down on the ground as they’re walking towards the school, so he might as well have. He stays quiet on the way to the auditorium where they’re having an assembly, and barely notices when Boyd leaves his side, probably to find Erica. The blue of Stiles’ top is like a magnet, and when Derek sits down, he can’t help turn towards it.

“Can you just talk to him?” Erica whispers over Derek’s shoulder barely a minute later.

Of course she grabbed the seat right behind him. Derek knows it’s as much of a coincidence as his own choice -- he has Stiles in his peripheral view, but Derek is just out of Stiles’ sight -- and he sighs in frustration.

“Come on, he’s doing this for all of us, and you’re acting like he’s personally offending you,” Erica keeps talking. “So, unless there’s some specific reason that neither Lydia nor Boyd know about, you need to stop with the murderous glares.”

“Drop it,” Derek growls.

“Oh,” she says then, her eyes blowing open. “ _Oooooh_.”

“No.”

“But…”

“Erica,” Boyd’s voice stops her short, and she immediately snaps her mouth shut. “Leave him be. He’ll deal with it all at some point. Friday, at the latest, I’d say.”

Derek’s head snaps up, and he asks with only the slightest tremor of what almost sounds like fear in his voice, “what’s on Friday? Is this not it?”

Both Erica and Boyd chuckle, and Derek slowly turns to look in Stiles’ direction again. The first outfit on Monday was a little eye-opening, but clearly only a warm-up, though Derek did spend all of Tuesday hoping that had been the worst of it. Today though, the clothes were in actual violation of the dress code -- Derek saw girls sent home for shorts _longer_ than the hip-hugging ones on Stiles. He even drove his sister Cora home to change at least once already, and this was her first year in high school.

But it’s the top that is driving Derek to distraction today. There’s a constellation of moles just above the fabric, one normally covered by T-shirts and plaid, and from where Derek is sitting, he has the perfect view of it. When he saw Stiles earlier, he didn’t get to see it up close, and now Derek is regretting sitting down where he did. The orange stripe he spotter earlier is now in perfect view, and Derek realises that it’s elastic by the way Stiles’ skin dips a little under it. There’s also a hint of plastic just on the edge of the shirt, and Derek’s brain freezes when he recognises it -- thanks to his sisters and laundry duty -- as a part of a bra.

“You know, he really thinks you’re angry at him for playing along with Lydia’s plan,” Boyd says quietly as he sits down by Derek’s side, interrupting his brain’s meltdown.

“I’m not,” Derek says, his voice rougher than he’d want it to be.

“I know,” Boyd nods, and Derek shoots a glance over his shoulder to see that Erica is busy talking to someone else. “It’s important to him though, this isn’t just a mission to charm Lydia.”

“I _know_ ,” Derek says.

“Do you? He only agreed when she said you were on board,” Boyd finishes, rolling his eyes in a way that is eerily similar to Lydia’s.

Derek doesn’t get to respond, because just then the headmaster comes up on stage, and the assembly begins.

“What?” Derek tries though, but Erica kicks the back of his chair and Boyd shushes him immediately.

There’s nothing else that Derek can do but to repeat Boyd’s words over and over in his mind, trying to make sense of them. They don’t, because while he knows that Stiles is no longer actively pursuing Lydia, he’s also never shown any indication of seeing Derek as anything other that just another classmate. If anything, Derek always felt like he was never even anywhere near Stiles’ radar. Ironically, that is exactly what he’s heard Stiles complain about often through the years when it came to Lydia.

Derek has no idea what happened at the assembly by the time it’s over, his eyes darting between the distracting neckline of Stiles’ top and his own hands whenever it seemed like Stiles was about to turn around and catch Derek looking. What he remembers is his own mind spinning around Boyd’s comment, and Erica’s annoying nudging of the back of his chair.

“ _Talk to him_ ,” she hisses when everyone moves to leave.

Her fingers are still poking at Derek’s back when he heads the other way instead, and he only just avoids colliding with Boyd.

“Come on, what now?” Derek lets his frustration seep into his voice.

He just wants to leave the auditorium, get to his class, and hopefully make it through the day without running into everyone. With important things -- and anything surrounding Stiles qualifies as that in Derek’s mind -- he likes to have time to sort his thoughts, to clear his mind enough to understand what’s going on.

“Don’t screw this up,” Boyd says, and Derek immediately frowns. “I mean it. You’re planning to leave it be, and to overthink it. Don’t do it,” Boyd adds.

“Boyd,” Derek says in a pleading tone.

The next moment, Erica is there too, and she’s leveling Derek with a glare.

“Okay, don’t talk to him now, you’re panicking,” she says, and Derek opens his mouth to protest, but doesn’t get a chance because she barrels on. “But you should talk to him. Or at least you should stop thinking of avoiding him.”

“I wasn’t…” Derek starts weakly, but he knows she’s right.

He hasn’t fully acknowledged the thought, but it was there since Monday. Stiles’ boldness isn’t something that Derek is comfortable with. He’s cautious, quiet, only confident in small doses, and admittedly a lot less fearless. It isn’t for the fear of losing dignity -- he’s not one for keeping up appearances -- but he doesn’t like putting himself on the line. He’s done it before and it backfired.

“Look, this isn’t like Paige,” Erica says in a tone more fond and caring than Derek’s used to. “He’s not going to up and leave you for a scholarship.”

“Only for college,” Derek says.

It’s as close to an admission of interest in Stiles as he’s willing to allow right then, but he’s already aware that there’s no point denying it to either Erica or Boyd.

“That’s not the same, and you know it,” Erica tells him, her tone leaving no room for argument. “And aren’t you both trying to get to the same school anyway?”

Derek splutters as he tries to answer her question, but she’s already turned around and is walking away, pulling Boyd along. She throws him one last look over her shoulder, and there’s mischief written all over her face, enough to make the hair on the back of Derek’s neck stand up.

Seconds later, he realises that it wasn’t Erica’s look, but the fact that someone is standing right behind him. With a worrying feeling that he knows _who_ it is, Derek slowly turns, and blushes when he comes face to face with Stiles.

“Hey,” Stiles says, and Derek’s eyes widen when he sees a blush coloring his pale face.

He’s fighting the urge to glance down to see just how low the neckline of the blue top is, but that makes him focus all the more on Stiles’ face. They’ve talked before, of course, but this is the closest he’s come to Stiles in the entirety of their four high school years. He’s never even looked at photos of Stiles this closely, but now he can see nothing but the moles dotting his face, the blush on his cheeks, and the sliver of whiskey brown around Stiles’ wide irises.

“Hi,” Derek says finally, the pause a little longer than he’d normally feel comfortable with.

“So, I feel like I should blame you for this,” Stiles says, and Derek’s eyes catch a movement of his hand that he’s trying not to follow.

“How’s that?” He asks instead, partly to deflect and distract himself, and partly because he’s curious how Stiles thinks any of Lydia’s doing is on him.

“You bailed on Friday,” Stiles says, his shoulders lifting, drawing Derek’s eyes to the exposed skin for a glance. “I stood no chance against her by myself.”

Derek raises an eyebrow in surprise.

“And you think I would have?”

“Maybe not alone, but I could’ve done with some backup,” Stiles says, and he sighs as he drops his head to look at his clothes. “I mean, I’m all for a good fight and all, but…”

Derek gives in, and he mirrors Stiles’ look, taking the outfit in up close. For a second, it’s not as bad as he was afraid it would be, but when he reaches the shorts and Stiles’ legs, he looks back up sharply. Stiles is looking at him again, and it takes all Derek’s willpower to hold back the sound that’s threatening to escape his lips.

“I don’t…” he starts, and his voice cracks a little. “I mean, you certainly have the legs for those shorts,” he says, instead of the flood of actual genuine compliments that are flooding his mind, some more appropriate than others.

Stiles chuckles, and blushes again as he bends his head.

“Thanks, I guess,” he says, his amusement still obvious. “Anyway, not why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

Derek’s racking his brain to find a possible reason for Stiles’ presence, but he’s coming up with nothing. They do have classes together, but haven’t been selected as project partners, there’s no meeting about the dress code due. Lydia said in her email during the weekend that they would go through with the plan -- the one causing Derek trouble since Stiles’ first ‘alternative’ outfit on Monday -- and _then_ meet again to discuss the follow-up.

“I wanted to ask, in case I do get sent home today,” Stiles explains before Derek’s mind spins too far out of control. “Could you email me notes from Calculus? I’d normally ask Lyds, but she’s not going to be in class today, some meeting with the advisor for the school board, and you’re the only other person taking decent notes.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” Derek says, feeling a little disappointed.

Not that he would admit anything of the sort, but for a moment he was hoping that Stiles needed something that required more in person interaction. He’s too afraid to initiate it himself, so for Stiles to open that door would’ve been great.

“You have my email, right?” Stiles asks.

“You’re on the council mailing list,” Derek tells him. “And Lydia copied you on the photos from Monday.”

“Right, yeah, of course,” Stiles nods. “That’s… okay, I’m gonna go, see how many classes I get into.”

Derek nods, and watches as Stiles slings his backpack over his shoulder and heads towards the exit. He knows he should say something, the conversation was the perfect opener, but he’s drawing a blank. And then Stiles bends down to move a chair out of the way, and Derek’s mind completely freezes at the sight. It’s only when he notices Stiles turning around that he looks away, cheeks burning, and rushes out to the doors on the other side.

He finds his next classroom, and falls into the chair next to Erica’s with a defeated sigh. She eyes him curiously for a second, but whatever questions she seems to be considering don’t come. The class passes by in a blur, Derek’s mind still on the earlier encounter _and_ Stiles’ shorts. When he tries to leave the room quickly, his luck runs out though, and Erica grabs his arm.

“So, what did Stilinski want? Did you two arrange a play date?” Her eyes are shining with laughter as she asks, and Derek groans in frustration.

“He just asked for Calculus notes, in case he gets sent home for the clothes,” he tells her, trying to tug his arm out of her hold.

Erica does let him go, but not before staring at him for a moment like she’s wondering if he’s joking or making fun of her. Then she shakes her head and releases the grip she has on Derek’s arm.

“You’re absolutely hopeless. There are no words that would be enough to describe just how beyond saving you are, Hale,” she says, and then she turns and walks away.

Derek, left to stare after her with nothing to say, doesn’t move for a while. It’s only when he gets a shove from another classmate’s backpack that he shakes his head and returns to reality. Which, to his dismay, includes the Calculus class in which he’ll now need to pay attention, no matter how frazzled his mind is.

When he walks into the room though, Stiles is there, obviously having avoided being sent home for a dress code violation. Of course, that is part of the point of the whole thing: proving that what girls would be sent home for, the guys will get away with. Derek has a feeling that Lydia has another part of it planned, one that will probably involve one of her female friends and the clothes that Stiles is in. Derek knows it’ll be a lot easier to handle, because right now he’s sitting behind Stiles and the moles that are peeking out from behind the soft fabric are mesmerising. And that is something that he will not have to deal with, no matter which one of her friends Lydia recruits for wearing the same clothes.

Calculus passes by with Derek barely taking any notes, and he knows that he’ll have to find someone to get a copy from. Unfortunately, as Stiles told him earlier, Lydia isn’t there, and usually she’s the only one whose notes make sense. After the bell rings, Derek glances around the room, and he’s almost resigned to asking the teacher when he catches sight of familiar blue next to him.

“So, I’m still here, and thanks for agreeing to loan me your notes, but I won’t need them,” Stiles says when Derek turns to face him.

“Yeah, actually, about that,” Derek mumbles. “Do you… would you mind if I borrowed yours?”

Stiles’ eyes widen in surprise.

“Sure, yeah, but…” Stiles starts, and Derek feels the embarrassment flooding his mind.

He takes the notebook that Stiles is handing over, and then tries to come up with an excuse for needing it.

“I’m sorry if I worried you by telling you about why Lydia’s not here,” Stiles rambles on, interrupting Derek’s moment of minor panic. “She’s just meeting to discuss how to approach the board with the results of this,” he adds, waving a hand down at his clothes.

It’s as unhelpful and distracting as it was in the auditorium, and this time Derek can’t help but gulp as he follows the motion of Stiles’ hand.

“I didn’t mean to distract you so much that you miss out in class,” Stiles says then.

 _Oh you have no idea_ , Derek thinks, having forgotten for a moment what they were talking about. He’s about to try and speak when he catches the end of Stiles’ babbling that Derek has completely missed.

“...and anyway, it’s only one more time, and then I’ll hand these over to Allison,” Stiles finishes, and he looks at Derek like he’s expecting a reaction.

“Allison?” Derek feels dumb asking, but right then, names in his mind aren’t matching to faces.

“Lydia’s ex-girlfriend? Tall, dark, beautiful, school’s archery wunderkid?”

“Oh, right, sorry, brain blacked out for a moment,” Derek says, still feeling thrown off by everything, the conversation he’s having with Stiles included.  

Stiles looks at him with curiosity, but he doesn’t question Derek’s words. Instead, he ducks his head and Derek catches a movement around Stiles’ waist. He looks down, incapable of resisting, and for a few beats watches as Stiles’ fingers tug at the hem of his shirt.

“Okay,” Stiles says after a while, just before he looks up at Derek again.

It’s only a second maybe, but the way Stiles’ eyes widen when Derek lifts his own head just a fraction too slow makes it clear that Derek’s been caught looking.

“I’m just gonna… g-go,” Stiles stutters, and Derek doesn’t get to reply, because all he can see the next moment is Stiles’ back.

The bra strap is obvious for what it is from the back now, and the blue fabric of Stiles’ top clings to his hips in all the right places. Derek, now that he’s been caught looking, decides that decorum is too much effort and he watches Stiles until he passes the doors and vanishes out of sight.

“Busted,” Erica whispers in Derek’s ear a second later, just as he’s about to try and find his composure again… and his next class.

He has the decency to blush, but lacks the strength to protest against her words. It’s no use anyway, Derek knows that both Erica and Boyd are now aware of his attraction to Stiles. It wasn’t even necessary for Derek to come out to Erica, and he suspects she knew for way longer than even Boyd.

“Come on, lovebug, let’s get you to your next class before you succumb to the pied piper that is Stiles’ neckline,” she laughs and grabs Derek’s arm, tugging on it in the direction opposite to where Stiles disappeared to.

Derek manages a weak splutter of complaint -- he’s not sure if it’s because she’s pulling him away from Stiles or because of the pet name -- but then he follows her down the hallway.

When he gets home that day, having survived a few more moments of Stiles being in his line of sight, Derek doesn’t even try to pretend that he’s not waiting for Lydia’s email with the day’s outfit. He is a little -- a lot, really -- curious if he’ll get a glimpse at what he should be ready for on Friday. When the email notification pings from his open laptop, Derek hesitates before clicking it open.

He does, after he’s checked that there is nothing else that he could distract himself with, and after he made sure that he’s alone and no one would burst into his room. It’s because he doesn’t want to explain what the project is about, or have a conversation about dress codes and gender stereotypes with Max. There are no other nefarious reasons for needing to keep the door to his room closed.

 _You’re kidding yourself_ , Derek tells himself as his mind runs through the memory of how Stiles looked in the orange shorts and the off-shoulder top.

“Come on, you’re better than that,” he mutters as he finally opens the email, and skims past the text above the photos.

Then he’s frozen as his eyes land on the attached photos. They’re different than the ones he got on Monday. Those were mostly of the clothes spread out on what he assumes was Stiles’ bed -- a thought that Derek resolutely refuses to dwell on. The ones that he is looking at now are of Stiles in the outfit still, in a light that’s different to the harsh bright ones from the school.

Lydia has clearly gone through a bout of feeling particularly evil, because the photos are almost indecent to Derek’s eyes. Of course, to anyone else, they’d just be regular photos that show the points of the clothes that break the dress code: the revealed shoulder, the length of the shorts, the bra strap on display. To Derek, they highlight all the things that were distracting him in school through the day. Stiles’ legs that are normally hidden inside loose pants, the moles on his pale skin, the muscles normally covered under layers of T-shirts and plaid. The way Stiles’ shoulders seem wider than usual when there’s nothing hiding how narrow his waist is.

“Dammit, Lydia,” Derek mutters as he moves his hand to close out of the email.

That’s when he sees it, in the background of the full body shot of Stiles. There’s a splash of red in the background of the shot, and Derek moves his hand to reopen the photos and look at them closer. It’s leather, he’s pretty sure, and it looks like a jacket. He clicks at another picture and instead of getting distracted by Stiles, Derek zooms in on the background.

He knows it’s only because he made sure to close the door that there is no one to witness the choked off cough as he spots the one thing that he’s sure will be his undoing come Friday. Hanging over the back of a chair, he can see what can only be a pair of tights, laid out carefully so that the design -- a distinct cat face -- is in plain view. With the image of Stiles’ bare legs seared into Derek’s brain, not only because the photos are right there on his screen, it takes about half a second for him to imagine those tights against the mole-dotted skin.

“Fuck,” Derek mutters.

His hand is shaking a little as he closes out of the photo, and it’s only by chance that his eyes drift up towards the text of the email that he assumed earlier was from Lydia. It’s not, though, as the signature under the block of text shows.

_Hi Derek,_

_Lydia asked me to send you the photos of today’s clothes. I’m pretty sure she’s just too lazy to do it herself, even though she was totally able to on Monday. (Yes, Lydia, I’m copying you on the email so you’ll know exactly what I said)._

_So here you go. Hope these are good enough for the report that we’re supposed to have at the end of all this._

_Tomorrow is a day off, and a reprieve for me, and then Friday is the final step. After that, Allison is getting the clothes, and will make them look as amazing as they’re supposed to be._

_Stiles._

Derek immediately wants to respond, argue with Stiles about how the clothes looked on him on both days. He manages to stop himself, and slams the lid of his laptop shut on the still open email. When he finds his way to his bed moments later, his mind is drifting to the photos, and the mystery of the tights and the red leather he saw in the background of the pictures.

Thursday comes with a rain cloud over the town, as well as Derek’s head. He isn’t sure why, but his mood is low, and he has to actively stop himself from snapping at everyone from his friends to his teachers. During the day, he barely runs into anyone -- a deliberate choice on his part, picking hallways and stairwells he knows to be emptier than others -- but it’s just enough to make him more grumpy than when he woke up.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Erica asks him at lunch, the one time when he doesn’t manage to dodge either her or Boyd. “I thought it was Stilinski who did the clothes switch this week.”

“Nothing,” Derek snaps back, and digs into the mac’n’cheese on his plate.

He has a brief moment of processing the thought of “panties”, which he pushes away really fast. He’s only just managing to feel like he could be out as bi, and kinks will have to wait to be discovered later. As his mind turns to that thought, he glances up from his plate at Erica and Boyd.

“So,” he starts, and his heart is racing as he braces himself for the words that are about to trip off his tongue. “How long did it take for Boyd to tell you?”

It’s not what he wanted to ask, but the question is out before he can think about it, and Derek is just glad that it didn’t come with an accusatory tone. Erica shakes her head, and the smile on her lips isn’t mocking or victorious like he expected.

“He didn’t,” she says, and she reaches across the table to cover his shaking hand with hers. “And by _it_ , I’m guessing you mean your attraction to specimens of the male variety?”

Derek nods.

“I knew from that one time when you drove us all to the lacrosse state championship, even though the team wasn’t playing,” Erica tells him.

“That was sophomore year,” he blurts out.

“I know,” she says, still smiling fondly. “I don’t know when you told Boyd, but that’s when I figured it had nothing to do with school pride and everything with a certain clumsy, uncoordinated, skinny bench warmer.”

“He didn’t tell me until last year,” Boyd says. “I knew before, but hey, these things need to be done at one’s own pace.”

“That’s why I didn’t say anything,” Erica says, nodding in agreement. “Though I guess I was obvious about knowing this week. But Derek,” she squeezes Derek’s hand gently. “Der, we’re about to finish school this year. You two might end up in the same college, but what then? It’s bigger there, you won’t have the same major.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, and he opens his mouth to question her words, but she chuckles and speaks before he can.

“Like I don’t know that you’re going for English, literature and history,” she says. “And Stiles is diving head first into criminology.”

“How do you know?” Derek asks, surprised that she knows.

“I listen,” Erica says, shrugging. “I’ve been invisible for most of high school, until this year. People say things when they don’t think anyone is around, and I was never _somebody_ or visible to anyone but you and Boyd.”

Both Derek and Boyd have a moment of scrambling for words, but there’s nothing either of them can say to dispute that. Derek does end up speaking first, while Boyd turns to moving a little closer to Erica and kissing her temple.

“Thank you,” Derek says, unsure what else he can add.

“Nothing to thank for, Der,” Erica tells him. “I love you for who you are, even when you’re being dumb.”

Derek tries to glare, but it quickly turns into a smile.

“You really shouldn’t let him slip through your fingers though,” she says. “He does think that he’s pining for someone unobtainable, you know.”

They don’t get to talk much more, because the bell rings, and Erica and Boyd rush off to their classes, while Derek trails behind, a little stunned from the conversation. He only has one class left, which is Stiles-free, and when it’s finished there’s nothing left for Derek to do but to drive home.

He manages to finish his History essay that he’s barely looked at all week, and there are no distracting emails before bedtime either. There’s no way to tell whether the butterflies in his stomach are from a sense of dread about the final outfit that Lydia chose for Stiles or anticipation. Derek knows that Erica would put money on the latter, but he’s terrified of what he’s made up his mind about: to talk to Stiles. Maybe to admit to Stiles that he’s very much interested in him.

It takes quite some time for Derek to fall asleep, his mind buzzing with memories from the previous few years. From the time that he started noticing Stiles with interest -- just after Paige was offered a scholarship and left town without looking back -- through various events that they both participated in. Derek was never in the same circles as Stiles, so they didn’t interact much, but he can’t deny that he kept track of Stiles’ activities -- at least the ones that were public knowledge. So he knows about the two years on the lacrosse team that happened only because of Stiles’ best friend Scott. He knows about Stiles’ almost arrests because he talked Danny, one of their classmates, into hacking the school records when their Chemistry teacher threw a spiteful test on them with nothing but college level questions.

Derek knows that Stiles had a long-running crush on Lydia since before they started high school, and that Stiles was one of the first -- only second to Danny -- to come out to everyone in school. Like Derek, Stiles was bisexual, but unlike Derek, Stiles flew the flag openly and with pride, even starting a PFLAG group in school. It’s one of the reasons why Derek has spent a lot of time wondering if he’s even worth Stiles’ attention.

 _He’s the least judgmental person in school_ , a little voice in Derek’s head says, sounding suspiciously like a combination of Lydia and Erica.

He can’t remember how or when he fell asleep when he gets up in the morning. It’s too early, way before his usual alarm, and Derek is downstairs in time to catch his Dad at the breakfast table.

“Up early, son,” Talia greets Derek from the other side of the table, and both his parents are looking at him with a surprised expression.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Derek mutters, reaching for his usual cereal box.

“Something on your mind?” Talia asks.

“Just a thing in school,” Derek says, hoping that his Mom won’t continue questioning him, and that his Dad won’t join her.

They don’t, though both give him another curious glance. He told them months ago that he was bi, and they both only reassured him that they didn’t love him any less, or any differently than before he told them. His Mom especially repeated more than once that as long as he was happy, it didn’t matter who it was with. Derek knew he was lucky in that, having a supportive family, but after he told them, it did nothing to stop their parental questionings, only changed the questions about girls to questions about people he was interested in in general.

He’s glad that breakfast passes in silence, and both his parents leave before he’s finished -- his Mom bringing Max to school, his Dad driving Cora. When Derek gets to the school, he expects to be the first one there, so he almost swerves into a lamp post when he catches sight of a familiar blue Jeep already in the spot right in front of the entrance.

At first sight, no one seems to be in it, and Derek breathes a little easier as he gets out of his own car and heads for the school’s front doors. Just as he’s passing the Jeep -- eyes on the school where he assumes Stiles already is -- the blue door swings open and nearly hits him. Stiles stumbles out, cursing, and he freezes when he catches sight of Derek.

Derek himself is in no better shape, surprised by Stiles’ sudden presence and still in reflex mode from jumping out of the door’s reach. Then his brain registers the sight in front of him properly, and all hope of verbal communication is lost.

There is leather, his eyes weren’t deceiving him on Wednesday, and it’s red and looking a lot softer than Derek’s own jacket. There’s a black graphic tee with a cat face on the front, but it’s the least attention-grabbing part. Because below the tee is a plaid _skirt_ , ruffled around Stiles’ thighs, and just long enough to reveal the cats on the tights that Derek also caught sight of in the photos he was sent. The inevitable pair of Converse doesn’t surprise Derek at all, and it’s not only because of the rest of the clothes, but because he can’t imagine Stiles in any other footwear.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” Stiles blurts when he’s caught his breath again. “I didn’t think anyone would be around yet, I didn’t hit you, did I?”

He’s flustered, and the red tint on his cheeks does absolutely nothing to help Derek gather his wits. He opens his mouth, then closes it again because his mind has gone entirely blank.

“You didn’t fall, so a concussion is not the case, but have I scared you speechless?” Stiles asks, still rambling. “I mean, I know Roscoe is a beast,” he says and taps the Jeep as he closes the door. “But he’s not that scary really. Me, on the other hand, that’s another story according to my friends, but I’m not driving now, so you’re safe.”

“Uh, cool,” Derek manages to say, and almost slaps his own face at how he sounds.

Stiles visibly slumps and he takes a step away from Derek, towards the school.

“I’m sorry again,” he says. “I was just hoping to get into the building without an audience. Plus, I couldn’t sleep, this is making me a little nervous.”

He points at his clothes with the last sentence, and Derek is powerless to do anything but to follow where Stiles’ hand is directing him. Once again, his heart skips as his eyes skim over the outfit, and he feels the heat in his cheeks by the time he’s looking back into Stiles’ eyes.

“I thought Lydia was ridiculous at first, you know,” Stiles keeps talking, and when he nods towards the school and starts moving, Derek follows. “But then she showed me photos of what she got sent home for, what other girls weren’t allowed to wear. And that just… it’s not right. We don’t get that, and I don’t know how many guys I’ve seen around school in gym clothes, in shorts when the heat waves hit,” Stiles keeps talking as they walk.

His hands are flailing around enough for Derek to take a step to the side so he doesn’t end up with an accidental slap in his face. Stiles mumbles an apology and tries to hold his arms still, but it only lasts a few seconds before he’s gesticulating again.

“I had to bring Cora home once, to change,” Derek says in a lull of Stiles’ waterfall of words. “She was wearing a tank top because it was still crazy hot outside. I think it was her second week in this school.”

Stiles huffs in disgust at that, just as they’ve reached the entrance. To Derek’s surprise, when he reaches out to open the doors, they don’t move.

“Guess I might have as well arrived as usual,” Stiles sighs, and he leans against the cool glass. “I just wanted to avoid the spectacle for a while. And I mean, it’s not about scandalising classmates, it’s to show the teachers and administration how sexist the dress code is. It’s insane that guys don’t get the same restrictions,” Stiles explains with passion. “Or that there are rules like that at all. We all understand common decency. And if a guy claims he can’t focus because a girl is distracting, he needs to check his priorities and maturity level.”

“You’re amazing,” Derek says when Stiles takes a breath and pauses his rambling.

He almost cringes at how reverent his words sound, but it’s how he feels about Stiles’ dedication to the project, and about Stiles in general, so he lets his tone speak for itself. _It’s time_ , he thinks, as he watches Stiles react to the words.

“You… I... “ Stiles scrambles for words, his eyes wide open in surprise. “ _What_?”

And yeah, Derek wasn’t quite thinking that he’d need to actually use his words. He’s still hoping that Stiles can read everything in his face, but from the confused expression, Derek realises that’s not the case.

“You’re amazing,” he repeats, sounding a little more hesitant. “What you’re doing here, it’s great. It’s beyond what anyone else would do.”

Stiles blushes, and glances down to the ground.

“Well, it’s what needed to be done,” he mumbles, and then he looks at Derek again.

“It is, but I don’t see anyone else doing it,” Derek says, his voice gaining strength. “Nor can I see anyone else rocking the hell out of those clothes the way you did this week. I think Allison will have a hard time looking even a fraction as great.”

Stiles’ jaw drops, and Derek can feel his cheeks heat up.

“You know, that’s probably the most you’ve said to me in the entire four years,” Stiles says, but it sounds less like an accusation and more like Stiles is happy. “Well, except for that one meeting of the council last year.”

“You were _wrong_ about the lunch menu,” Derek immediately responds, memories of the meetings that surrounded Stiles’ insistence to include curly fries on the school kitchen’s menu flashing through his mind.

“I wasn’t. Curly fries can be healthy,” Stiles insists. “As was proven when the board approved of the version that now graces our lives on Fridays,” he says, grinning with satisfaction. “Which just so happens to be today, and _thank you_ for that reminder.”

The smile on Stiles’ face almost takes Derek’s breath away. It’s one that doesn’t show too often -- no, Derek doesn’t have a catalogue of them, but this one is special -- only on occasions usually reserved for Scott or, well, curly fries. It’s enough to leave him reeling, unsure what to say next. Stiles, luckily, has no problem breaking the silence.

“You know, for the first two years here, I thought I’d done something to offend you,” he says to Derek. “Then I wondered if you were homophobic after I came out.”

Derek does cringe at that, because it couldn’t be further from the truth.

“But you have no issues with Danny, or with Lydia and Allison, so that couldn’t be it,” Stiles goes on, not even looking at Derek anymore. “So I always thought it was me, somehow, and that I’ve said or done something to make you avoid me. You know this week is the most we’ve ever spoken? And the closest we’ve been in almost four years?”

Derek knows. He’s not sure whether to be happy that Stiles has noticed -- because that means he’s noticed _Derek_ \-- or apologetic. It’s not that he’s been deliberately avoiding Stiles all the years… well, not _all_ the time.

“Yeah, I…” Derek starts, but flounders because he really isn’t sure what to say.

“I like it, you know,” Stiles admits, and Derek’s heart skips. “I never knew how to get talking to you. Who would’ve thought that it would take this,” he points to the outfit he’s wearing, and Derek blushes as he remembers it -- he’s managed to push it out of his brain in the last few moments. “I’m not complaining, and maybe I should’ve done something a little more like this before,” Stiles finishes.

He pauses, and Derek opens his mouth to finally say the one thought that’s on his mind, but before he can, Stiles speaks again.

“I might be completely wrong here, but I’ve gotta try,” he says, so quietly that Derek wonders if the words are aimed at him or if Stiles is talking to himself. “I mean, it’s not like I have much to lose, and I’ve kind of wondered if Lydia knows more than she lets on. She usually does. But anyway, sorry, I’m rambling. It’s just that this is important. To me.”

“Stiles?” Derek interrupts the waterfall of words that he finds endearing, though he’s not going to admit it.

“Yeah?” Stiles looks up, and his eyes are wide, cheeks flushed, and Derek’s heart does a somersault that he never thought it would be capable of.

“Would you…” Derek says and pauses, then takes a deep breath and thinks ‘ _now or never, Hale, come on_ ’. “Would you like to get coffee sometimes? Or go for curly fries? With me?”

Because there’s no one else around the school yet, and because Derek is barely breathing as he’s watching Stiles’ face for a reaction and a response, the silence is overwhelming. He can feel his own heart rabbit with increasing panic as seconds tick by, more and more the longer that Stiles’ face remains blank. Less than a minute passes before Derek jumps to the conclusion that he misread Stiles’ rambling.

“I’m sorry, it probably wasn’t … I shouldn’t have,” he says, taking a step backwards to get further out of Stiles’ space.

“You… _no_ ,” Stiles says, and he steps forward. “No, you don’t get to say that and not even let me process that _you_ are actually asking _me_ on a date. It was meant as a date, right? I’m not imagining things.”

“No, I mean, yes, I mean…” Derek says, then he takes a deep breath. “You’re not imagining things.”

“Okay, in that case.” Stiles takes another step forward. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he says, but he stops before he does what he said. “I mean, unless you’re not okay with that. I know you’re not out in school, and I don’t know if you’re…”

Derek reaches out as Stiles rambles, and he shivers a little at the feel of the soft leather under his fingers as he tugs Stiles closer gently. He doesn’t ask before he leans forward and brushes his lips against Stiles’. Immediately after, Stiles’ arms fly up and wrap around Derek’s shoulders, and Derek flexes his fingers into the jacket as Stiles returns the kiss.

In the past, when he read books or watched movies that made it seem like everything around a couple vanished when they kissed, Derek always laughed it off as unrealistic. Now though, he’s so wrapped up in the feeling of Stiles against him, in the softness of the lips moving against his own, that everything _does_ vanish, and Derek forgets that they’re at the front door of their school, right in front of the parking lot that is bound to start filling with people any moment.

“Hey Derek, I didn’t think you’d be the one for such a public coming out!”

It’s Erica, _of course_ it is, and when Derek pulls away reluctantly from Stiles and glances towards her, his cheeks are burning hot. He can feel Stiles hide his face in his shoulder, and that doesn’t help the situation one bit.

“I have to say, this is kind of great though,” Erica says, her face lit up with a smile.

“Hale, if you get him sent home for PDA instead of the clothes, I will make _you_ wear that next week,” Lydia says, emerging from behind Erica’s back.

“Don’t tempt me,” Stiles mutters low enough that only Derek can hear.

“No,” Derek tells him with determination. “Not happening.”

“What’s not happening?” Erica asks, suddenly a lot closer than she was moments ago, surprising Derek _again_.

“None of your business,” he tells her, and he tries to make himself let go of Stiles.

He fails, because he’s afraid that it’ll all become a dream if he doesn’t have actual physical hold on Stiles, if he doesn’t feel the leather of the hooded jacket under his fingers.

It’s Stiles who moves away -- but not out of reach -- a few moments later, when Lydia coughs impatiently from the other side of the now open front doors. At the same time, Stiles pulls one of Derek’s hands away from the jacket, and links his fingers through Derek’s instead.

“Is this okay?” Stiles asks, sounding cautious.

Derek nods, and as they walk inside, he can’t help but lean into Stiles’ side a little, just to make sure that he’s actually there.

Stiles does get sent home that day, and it’s not for PDA -- shut up, Lydia -- but because he has Chemistry, and Harris already has a grudge against him. Lydia argues the whole weekend that it doesn’t count against the project, and it doesn’t prove that guys get as discriminated against for their clothes as girls do. She’s proven right the next week, when Allison is reprimanded for all three outfits, sent home on both Wednesday and Friday.

None of which carries as much weight to Derek, because on Friday evening, he’s holding Stiles’ hand as they try to watch a movie. Then, in the darkness of the theatre, Derek finally feels like he hasn’t dreamt it all up. It doesn’t stop him from distracting Stiles with kisses, though.

**Author's Note:**

>   
> [my tumblr](http://froggydarren.tumblr.com/) || [my sterek fic tumblr](http://triggeringthehealing.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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